


Soft Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale calling Crowley beautiful, Crowley calling Aziraphale beautiful, Fluff, M/M, Soft Aziraphale, Waking Up, morning fic, they love each other and they're dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:46:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Aziraphale wakes up to Crowley sleeping on his belly. He's happy to be the demon's softest resting place.





	Soft Morning

The first thing Aziraphale was aware of was a weight on his belly. Before his eyes opened, before he took his first conscious breath, he knew that something was resting there - and, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, it was meant to be there. It was right. 

The first thing he saw was a shock of messy red hair. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Crowley?” 

The red hair did not move, didn’t even twitch. Its owner was still asleep. 

Then the rest of Aziraphale’s thoughts returned, and he smiled, settling back against his pillows. _Crowley._

It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had woken up this way, Crowley having crept his way as close to him as possible in the night, cuddling up to his side, pillowing his head over the softness of his stomach. It was growing to be a pattern of every morning, in fact. When they’d first started sleeping together, Crowley had tried to keep his distance. Afraid of going too fast, once again, afraid of driving Aziraphale away. It started when Aziraphale noticed Crowley was always facing toward him when they woke, face upturned toward his like a sunflower seeking the light; then slowly, as if unable to help himself, Crowley had begun inching toward him in his dreams. Finally one morning Aziraphale had woken up before Crowley and pulled his still-sleeping form completely into his arms, and Crowley had made a low, joyous sound like a cat’s purr, and Aziraphale had kissed him on the forehead when he woke and said _I’ll hold you like this, always, if you want me to._

Now Crowley was no longer hesitant. Now Aziraphale was used to waking like this, was used to the press of Crowley’s ear, his cheek, burrowed into him. Slowly, so as not to disturb his love, Aziraphale freed one of his arms from the blankets and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

Crowley didn’t move. Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s face up slightly, so he could see it - his eyes were shut tight, like a child’s, and the corners of his mouth pulled just slightly up, like he was sharing a secret joke with himself. 

“Everything about you is beautiful,” he said. It was easier to say these things to Crowley when he was asleep, when Crowley couldn’t snicker or roll his eyes or contradict. “Your hair - I wish there was more of it, I love the way it curls. Your arms.” He stroked one shoulder. “I feel so safe, when they’re around me. I feel so loved.” 

No response from Crowley. 

“Your mind,” Aziraphale said, voice so quiet it was almost lost to the air. “I love how deeply you think, and how hard you try to understand, and how willing you are to keep thinking when you’re told to give up. It’s something I’ve struggled to comprehend all my life. Sometimes I hope it’ll be a mystery to me forever.” 

Crowley was so still, so utterly calm, so comfortable. Aziraphale wanted to freeze this moment and live in it for a hundred years. 

“Your eyes,” he said at last. “Your eyes are the most stunning things I’ve ever seen. And I love looking into them and seeing your heart.” 

The eyes opened. 

Aziraphale froze. Crowley’s mouth curved up into a wider smile, seeing the surprise on Aziraphale’s face; he wiggled a little closer and rested his chin on Aziraphale’ chest. “Can you see it?” 

Affection eclipsed surprise in the next moment. He couldn’t find it in himself to mind that Crowley had been listening to him monologue. “Oh, yes, dear.” He stroked Crowley’s hair again, combing his fingers through it. “And it’s the most beautiful thing of all.” 

There were a million wonderful things about this new life they shared, but the best of all was seeing Crowley, every day, look as happy as he did in this moment. Seeing the warmth and the joy and the contentedness on that lovely face as he gazed up at Aziraphale. He would never grow tired of it, not if he looked at it for the rest of time.

“Crowley?” he asked, a little hesitant.

“Yeah?”

His hand in Crowley’s hair moved downward to stroke his cheek. “Do you think I’m beautiful, dear?” 

Crowley’s smile widened until it stretched from ear to ear. Then he buried his face back into Aziraphale’s broad stomach, fumbling to undo the bottommost buttons of his pajama shirt and pressing a kiss to the exposed skin. Aziraphale giggled at the sensation. 

“You’re exquisite,” Crowley murmured, and kissed him again. “You’re soft.” A third kiss. “You’re gentle.” A fourth. “You look like a painting - some painting of what love looks like in human form.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” Aziraphale couldn’t help his own smile.

“I’m never silly.” Crowley laid his cheek against Aziraphale’s belly once more, humming quietly. “And you love me.” 

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head, watching his eyes slowly slide shut again. “Oh, I do, darling. I do.” 

It wasn’t the first morning they had spent like this. It wouldn’t be the last.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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